Another Mortal Life

First, this is the post I wrote last Friday, published, and then deleted!!...=>

I don’t have to write, in fact I should not, but I will. The two maiden, untouched textbooks and the two other sets of good looking reading material do not tempt me enough to put my hands on them. One of the books has passed the 30 days of its association with me, rotating 30 degrees a week on the shelf. Its interactions with the dust have made some gorgeous paintings M F Hussain would be only too willing to claim as his own.
These paintings, rectangular sketches etc are so nice to think about while sitting idle here in the room. But I really didn’t like picking up the drafter and moving out for the workshop yesterday. Every eye seemed to be in full mode of enquiry. The only thing I could do for mixing in the fuchha bunch was a shave which I of course did, but that didn’t help much.
But professor Sachdeva is good. And that eases off the trouble. The cycloids appearing more like sine curves are acceptable to him! Though he doesn’t offer the guys the “correct it and come back” option he sometimes offers to the fairer sex. Anyway, fine. I haven’t got issues with that.
Ok. I think I can cut it short here. The textbooks deserve some attention.”
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Returning to the present…

The minors won’t go without extracting a few words for themselves out of my not-so-busy self. ‘Not-so-busy’ is no reflection on the past three days, but a pointer to the fact that my minors are almost over. Yesterday was a nightmare. While I wanted to write a complete post dedicated to the same, the frustration chose to come out in the comments section of this post by V. Having come back to my eternal ease with the way IIT functions, and to my unwillingness to talk about how some of the profs are explicitly proud of the way they shit, I no longer feel like writing about all that in detail. But really, I won't forget those 5-10 minutes when I was supposed to be in two examination halls simultaneously. The fourth block was never as far away from the workshop. IIT sucks well.

I wrote this line while commenting on Siyaah's blog and felt like noting it down on my blog too:
Dil karta hai koi sawaal to apna sa lagta hai..
duniya vohi poochhe to lagti hai paraayi si.

Lately, I don’t prefer posing all those silly psycho-philosophical questions to myself which I once enjoyed to ponder over. May be the questions have dried up, like the vegetation that didn’t receive rain, of silly answers, in time. May be because I’ve understood they are nothing but silly. Or may be because I get too many doses of them in blogosphere, with better answers that cloud the mind even more. (And while finding all these links, I don't know why I can't access this blog. Such posts are aplenty there. )

I find myself at loss of words these days, or perhaps, I always did. There are too many thoughts I can’t express. But the silly poems that I write come as a good friend at times, for they express all I want, more than I could ever try, and sometimes, more than I did ever want. Mostly meaningless they are, but they’ve been a good time pass for years now. They’ve been the only rescue from the boring lectures and at times the professors have been deceived into believing that this always-awake-guy is quite studious (all this if (s)he doesn't think-"Have I seen him before in this class?" :P).

I love comments. I long for somebody to come and bash me someday for some silly post of mine. even as anonymous.

The only comment I hate is “cute post.”